"Alkmeny!" I said crossly, "don't shake your bed, child. It shakes the room most unpleasantly.
"I thought it was you shaking the room," the child replied.
Then it occurred to me that it would take a giant to shake the huge room. It was the second story of a rock house, with two foot thick walls.
The room shook again, so violently that I bit the end of my tongue, and for the moment thought of nothing except the pain of it. Then it grew dark, like dusk, and there was a noise as if hundreds of baskets of walnuts were being poured down the staircase. In the thick stone walls cracks a foot wide appeared; the edges trembled, as if uncertain whether to fall inside or out, and with a crash came together again.
The children were thrown out of their beds, and I gazed at them passively. At this instant did some past incarnation of mine say the word "earthquake!" or was the word really called by some one outside? All I know is that "seismos!" rang in my ears, and with it everything I had ever heard about earthquakes flashed into my mind. "Don't walk—crawl!" was the first thing, and obeying it I dropped to the floor, caught up the youngest child in my arms, and told the other two to cling to my gown. Then in a sitting position I worked my way out of the room and down the stairs.
